Playing for the Ashes (33 page)

“I’m afraid he’ll need to stay,” Lynley said. “I’d like him to answer some questions as well.”

Faraday pressed the button on a
flu
orescent lamp above the workbench. It shed a brilliant, white, and decidedly area-specific glow upon that small section of the room. At the same time it also served to create a fulgent diversion for the eyes, urging them away from the old armchair where Olivia sat.

There was a stool in front of the workbench, and Faraday chose to perch on this. Looking between them, Lynley’s eyes would constantly be making the adjustment from brightness to shadow. It was a clever set-up. They’d managed it so quickly and effortlessly that Lynley wondered if it had been a what-todo-when-the-rozzers-
fin
ally-arrive predetermined behaviour.

He chose the armchair closest to Olivia. “I’ve a message from your mother,” he said.

The tip of her cigarette flared like a coal. “Yeah? Tra lah. Should I celebrate or something?”

“She said to tell you that she’ll always be your mother.”

Olivia observed him from behind the smoke, eyelids lowered and one hand keeping the cigarette at the ready, two inches from her mouth.

“She said to tell you Kenneth Fleming didn’t change that.”

Her eyes stayed on him. Her expression didn’t alter at the mention of Fleming’s name. “Am I supposed to know what that means?” she
fin
ally asked.

“Actually, I’m misquoting her. At
fir
st she said Kenneth Fleming doesn’t change that.”

“Well, I’m glad to know the old cow can still moo.” Olivia sounded largely bored. Across the room Lynley heard Faraday’s clothing rustle as he moved. Olivia didn’t look in his direction.

“Present tense,” Lynley said. “
Doesn’t
. And then the switch to past.
Didn’t
. She’s been trading between the two since last night.”

“Doesn’t. Didn’t. I know my grammar. And I also know Kenneth Fleming’s dead, if that’s what you’re slithering towards.”

“You’ve spoken to your mother?”

“I read the newspaper.”

“Why?”

“Why? What sort of question is that? I read the newspaper because that’s what I do when Chris brings it home. What do you do with yours? Cut it up in squares to use on your bum when you shit?”

“Livie,” Faraday said from his workbench.

“I meant why didn’t you telephone your mother?”

“We haven’t spoken in years. Why should I have done?”

“I don’t know. To see if there was something you could do to make her grieving a bit easier?”

“Something along the lines of ‘sorry to hear your toyboy’s had his ticket cancelled prematurely’?”

“So you knew that your mother had a relationship of some kind with Kenneth Fleming. Despite the years during which you haven’t spoken.”

Olivia pushed her cigarette between her lips. Lynley saw from her expression that she recognised how easily he had led her into the admission. He also saw her evaluating what else she had inadvertently revealed.

“I said I read newspapers,” she replied. Against the chair, it seemed as if her left leg was vibrating, perhaps with cold—which it was not inside the barge—perhaps with nerves. “Their story’s been rather hard to avoid for the past few years.”

“What do you know of it?”

“Just what’s been in the papers. He worked for her in Stepney. They live together. She’s helped his career. She’s supposed to be like his fairy godmother or something.”

“The expression
toyboy
implies more than that.”

“Toyboy?”

“The expression you used a moment ago. ‘Her toyboy’s had his ticket cancelled prematurely.’ That suggests something beyond merely being a fairy godmother to a younger man, wouldn’t you agree?”

Olivia flicked tobacco ash into the tomato tin. She brought the cigarette back to her mouth and spoke behind her hand. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve a nasty mind.”

“Have you assumed from the first that they were lovers?” Lynley asked. “Or was there something more recent that gave you the impression?”

“I haven’t assumed anything. I haven’t been interested enough to assume. I’m just reaching the logical conclusion one generally reaches about what happens when a todger and a grumble—usually but not always unrelated to each other by blood or marriage— occupy the same space for a period of time. It’s the birds and the bees. Hard cock and wet twat. I don’t imagine I need explain it to you.”

“It’s rather unsettling, though, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“The idea of your mother with a man so much younger. Younger than yourself or perhaps your own age.” Lynley leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He aimed for a posture declaring this a move towards earnest conversation and in doing so managed to get a better look at her left leg. It was indeed vibrating, as was her right. But she didn’t seem to be aware of the movement. “Let’s be frank,” he said with as much ingenuousness as he could manage. “Your mother isn’t a particularly youthful sixty-six-year-old. Did you never ask yourself whether she was blindly and foolishly putting herself into the hands of a man who was after something rather more than the dubious pleasure of taking her to bed? He was a nationally known sportsman. Don’t you agree that he could probably have had his pick of willing women less than half your mother’s age? That being the case, what do you imagine he had in mind when he took up with your mother?”

Her eyes narrowed. She weighed his questions. “He had a mother complex he was trying to work out. Or a grandmother complex. He liked them old and wrinkled. He liked them when they sagged. Or he only felt a bonk was truly worthwhile if the curlies were grey. Have it anyway you want. I can’t explain the situation.”

“But weren’t you bothered by it? If, in fact, that was the nature of their relationship. Your mother denies it, by the way.”

“She can say and do whatever she wants, far as I’m concerned. Her life is her life.” Olivia gave a low whistle in the direction of a doorway that appeared to lead into a galley. “Beans,” she called. “Get out here with you. What’s he up to, Chris? Did you fold the laundry when you brought it home? If you didn’t, he’ll be sleeping in the middle of it.”

Faraday slipped off his stool. He touched her shoulder and disappeared round the doorway, calling, “Beans! Come on. Hey! Damn it.” Then he laughed. “He’s got my socks, Livie. This bloody animal is chewing on my socks. Let go, you mongrel. Here. Give me those.” The sound of tussling followed, accompanied by a dog’s playful growling. Under the workbench, the other dog raised his head.

“You stay there, Toast,” Olivia said. She settled her shoulders against her chair when the dog obeyed. She looked pleased with the diversion she’d effected.

“If you reached one conclusion about your mother’s relationship with Fleming,” Lynley said, “I can’t think it would be difficult to reach another. She’s a wealthy woman, when one considers her property in Kensington, Stepney, and Kent. And you and she are estranged.”

“So what?”

“Are you aware of the fact that your mother’s will names Fleming as her chief beneficiary?”

“Should I be surprised?”

“Of course, she’ll have to alter it now that he’s dead.”

“And you’re thinking I’ve hopes she’ll leave her ducats to me?”

“Fleming’s death makes that a possibility, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say you misjudge the degree of animosity between us.”

“Between you and your mother? Or you and Fleming?”

“Fleming?” she repeated. “I didn’t know the bloke.”

“Knowing him wasn’t necessary.”

“For what?” She took a hard pull at her cigarette. “Are you leading up to suggesting that I had something to do with his death? Because I wanted my mother’s money? What a fucking joke.”

“Where were you on Wednesday night, Miss Whitelaw?”

“Where was I? Jesus!” Olivia laughed, but her laughter triggered a sharp spasm of some kind. She gave a choked gasp and jerked back into her chair. Her face quickly reddened and she dropped her cigarette into the tin, gulping out, “Chris!” and turning her head to one side, away from Lynley.

Faraday hurried back into the workroom. He said quietly with his hands on her shoulders, “Okay. Okay. Just breathe and relax.” He knelt at her side and began kneading her legs as the beagle joined him and sniffed her feet.

A small black-and-white cat wandered into the workroom from the direction of the galley, mewling softly. Under the workbench, Toast began to struggle to his feet. Faraday said over his shoulder as he worked on Olivia, “No! Stay! You too Beans. Stay,” and he clucked softly till the cat was within his reach. He scooped it off the floor and dropped it into Olivia’s lap, saying, “Hang on to her, Livie. She’s been messing round with the bandage again.”

Olivia’s hands dropped over the cat, but her head pressed back against the chair and she didn’t look at the animal. Eyes closed, she was breathing deeply—in through her nose and out through her mouth—as if her lungs might at any moment forget how to work. Faraday continued to massage her legs. He said, “Better? Okay? Easing up now, is it?”

Finally she nodded. Her breathing slowed. Her head dropped and she gave her attention to the cat. She said in a strained voice, “This isn’t going to heal if she doesn’t wear a proper collar to keep her paws from it, Chris.”

Lynley saw that what had
fir
st appeared to be part of the cat’s white fur was really a bandage that looped round her left ear and covered her eye. “Cat fi ght?” he asked.

“She’s lost the eye,” Faraday said.

“It’s quite a group you’ve got here.”

“Yeah. Well. I look after the toss-outs.”

Olivia laughed weakly. At her feet, the beagle’s tail thumped happily against her chair, as if he understood and took part in some obscure joke.

Faraday drove his fingers into his hair. “Shit. Livie…”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “Let’s not start displaying our nasties here, Chris. The inspector isn’t interested in them. Just in where I was on Wednesday night.” She raised her head and looked at Lynley, continuing with “Where you were, too, Chris. I imagine he’ll want to know that as well. Although the answer is quick and easy enough. I was where

I always am, Inspector. Right here.”

“Can someone corroborate that?”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t know I’d be needing corroboration. Beans and Toast would be happy to oblige, of course, but somehow I doubt you’re fluent in dog.”

“And Mr. Faraday?”

Faraday rose. He rubbed at the back of his neck. He said, “I was out. A party with some blokes.”

“Where was this?” Lynley asked.

“Clapham. I can give you the address if you want.”

“How long were you gone?”

“I don’t know. It was late when I got back. I drove one of the blokes home, up to Hampstead first, so it must have been round four.”

“And you were asleep?” This to Olivia.

“I’d hardly be anything else at that hour.” Olivia had returned to her earlier position, head resting against the back of the chair. Her eyes were closed. She was petting the cat, who was studiously ignoring her and rhythmically working her thighs into a suitable state for napping upon.

Lynley said, “There’s an extra key to the cottage in Kent. Your mother indicates that you know about it.”

“Does she?” Olivia murmured. “Well, that makes two of us, doesn’t it?”

“It’s gone missing.”

“And I suppose you’d like to have a look round here for it? It’s an honest desire on your part, but one requiring a warrant. Have you got one?”

“I imagine you know that can be arranged without too much difficulty.”

Her eyes opened a slit. Her lips twitched with a smile. “Why is it I think you’re bluffing, Inspector?”

“Come on, Livie,” Faraday said with a sigh. And to Lynley, “We don’t have any key to any cottage. We haven’t even been in Kent since…Hell, I don’t know.”

“But you have been there?”

“Out to Kent? Sure. But not to a cottage. I didn’t even know there
was
a cottage till you brought it up.”

“So you don’t read the newspapers yourself. The ones you bring home for Olivia to read.”

“I read them, yeah.”

“But you took no note of the cottage when you read the stories about Fleming.”

“I didn’t read the stories about Fleming. Livie wanted the newspapers. I fetched them for her.”

“Wanted the newspapers? Expressly wanted them? Why?”

“Because I always want them,” Olivia snapped. She reached out and circled Faraday’s wrist with her hand. “Stop playing the game,” she said to him. “He only wants to trap us. He’s looking to prove we snuffed Kenneth Fleming. If he can do it before dinner tonight, he’ll probably have time to give his girlfriend a length. If he’s got a girlfriend.” She pulled at Faraday’s wrist. “Get my transport, Chris.” And when he didn’t move at once, she said, “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. Go on. Get it.”

Faraday went through the door to the galley and came back bearing a three-sided aluminium walker. He said, “Beans, one side,” and when the dog had shuffled out of the way, he set it in front of Olivia’s chair. “Okay?” he said.

“Okay.”

She passed him the cat, who mewled in protest until Faraday placed her on the tattered corduroy seat of another armchair. He turned back to Olivia, who grasped the sides of the walker and began to hoist herself to her feet. She gave a grunt and a heave, muttering, “Shit. Oh, fuck it,” when she teetered to one side. She shook Faraday’s protective hand from her arm. Finally upright, she glared defi antly at Lynley.